Sisko's Blunder
by lilidelafield
Summary: In a moment of stress and crisis, Captain Sisko makes a foolish mistake that could have potentially devastating consequences on a key member of his crew...unless he can somehow find a way to make amends... Temporarily on hiatus...
1. Chapter 1

_This is a story I wrote several years ago, and it has been idling on my system ever since, so I thought I would post…If there is a desperate enough desire for it, I might conclude the story. . ._

 _This story is set some time during the first half of season six . . ._

 **Star Trek – Deep Space Nine**

 **Sisko's Blunder**

Chief O'Brien dropped heavily onto the biobed and watched wearily as doctor Bashir finished treating a young crewman with torn ligaments after an accident on duty. The crewman was grinning sheepishly, and Bashir noticed and frowned.

"Crewman, this is the second time this week you have come here with the same injury." he said sternly. "Enthusiasm is a good thing, but temper it with good judgment. Next time you have to shift something that heavy, get someone to help you, or use antigravs. If I see you back here again through making the same mistake, I will have a word with your senior officer. Is that understood?"

The young crewman nodded contritely.

"Yes sir. I promise I'll be more careful sir."

"Alright, you can go. Take it easy on those muscles for a few hours."

"Aye sir. Thank you, sir."

The man glanced apprehensively at O'Brien; and receiving no acknowledgement from him, fled thankfully. O'Brien caught Bashir's eye and grinned.

"See Julian, you can put the fear of god into people when you want to."

Julian laughed.

"Do you realise how often that sort of thing happens with your people, Miles? I keep getting Ops crews in here with minor injuries related to eagerness and enthusiasm. I didn't realise you were so inspirational. It must be a gift you have."

Miles raised an eyebrow.

"Well, since I am his senior officer, do you want to make it official?"

Julian shook his head.

"No. All they usually need is swift treatment and a boot in the rear end, and they quickly learn the meaning of moderation. So, what's with you? You look beat."

"I've been crawling through conduits and climbing up and down service shafts all day looking for solium leaks."

"In that case I take it you're not here to offer me a game of racquetball?"

"Nope. I just enjoy watching you working. I get a kick out of knowing that your work schedule is as gruelling as mine."

Bashir nodded.

"And similar hours...when I'm lucky."

"What do you mean?"

Bashir let out a sigh as he perched himself on the biobed beside O'Brien.

"With all the starships passing here on their way to and from the front lines, you get all the repair work dropped on you, mostly because the most badly damaged starships have lost half their personnel and likely all of their equipment. Between you and your staff, you somehow manage to meet demand. When these same ships come in, the medical systems are usually shot to pieces or badly losing power, many lacking any skilled medical personnel to treat the injuries. Every one of them comes in to me of course, but as the chief medical officer, I can't disappear off to bed when there are ships due in. Tarses and Girani know what they're doing, but I..."

O'Brien nodded. He understood completely, because he had the same thoughts himself, and frequently argued with Keiko about that very thing.

"You have to trust your officers" she would say, "...that's why you have assistants, because you can't be expected to be always on the job twenty-four hours a day every day."

And she was right of course, but O'Brien being O'Brien couldn't possibly relax and go to sleep when there was work still needing to be done...and no more could Bashir. In fact, for Bashir it was worse, because he was far and away the most experienced doctor in the sector, one of the best in the entire quadrant; and capable though the other two doctors were, they relied on Bashir more than anybody ever realised. Whenever they had difficulties during an operation, Bashir always knew exactly what had gone wrong, if anything, how to put it right, and how to show them all of this without making them feel foolish. They only had to call, and he was right there. O'Brien had lost count of the times recently, when he and Bashir had settled down for the evening for chess or darts or an excursion in one of the holosuites, and, having already worked fifteen hours in sickbay, Bashir had responded to a call for assistance by one of the other doctors. On top of that, he was constantly besieged by armloads of paperwork, caused by Starfleet regulations, and fellow doctors facing unfamiliar diseases and injuries known to be quite commonplace by now to doctor Bashir, wishing to confer with him.

Julian glanced sideways at his friend.

"So, racquetball is out, so is white-water rafting...whether you think so or not Miles! Alamo?"

Miles shook his head, echoing his friend's feelings exactly.

"Sunbathing!" he exclaimed. Julian's lips twitched in amusement.

"Are you serious?"

Miles nodded.

"Yeah! Somewhere warm...not too hot, sunny, warm grass..."

Julian gave a shout of laughter.

"No way Miles! Can you imagine the stories that would be going round the station when people see the two of us emerging from the holosuite covered in grass stains?"

Miles giggled. Perhaps Julian was right at that!

"Oh well, home sweet home then, and an early night."

Julian nodded.

"A not quite so early night Miles. Try and get some sleep."

Miles hopped down and headed for the door.

"You too Julian."

The next day found more ships coming in from the front lines with exhausted personnel seeking medical help, ship repairs, and desperately needed shore leave. Station personnel were kept busy for hours until finally, Miles and his repair crews saw the final repair completed, and the flood of patients to sickbay slowed from a stampede to a steady flow, then to a light trickle, and finally, just after midnight, the last patient was dismissed or declared out of danger.

Julian had been on the go since 0400, almost twenty hours, andeven his genetically enhanced constitution was beginning to feel the pinch. He had managed to slip out for lunch with Garak at midday, but had not even taken a bite when he was recalled to sickbay. As he left the infirmary, rubbing his eyes wearily, Dax came by. She glanced round at him, smiled almost nonchalantly, and stopped when she saw his face. His eyes were bloodshot, and dark circles under his eyes seemed to accentuate his prominent cheekbones. He looked as if he had had very little sleep for days. Impulsively she touched his arm.

"Julian, are you alright?"

Julian nodded, smiling.

"Fit as a fiddle...you?"

Dax frowned.

"How many hours have you been doing lately, Julian?"

Julian shook his head.

"No more than anyone else, I'm sure. Anyway, I'm going to get some sleep. There should be no more emergencies tonight, and Girani is on duty until 1100 hours tomorrow, so maybe I'll be able to catch up a little."

Dax nodded, cautiously.

"I know what you doctors are like with the overworking and the undereating and under-sleeping. You couldn't have had chance for breakfast this morning, with the Calypso coming in so early with all those casualties from Belonis IV, and then the Pegasus came in, followed by the Ulysses and then the Explorer. Did you get any lunch?"

Julian gave an off-handed nod, which put Dax on her guard immediately.

"Oh yes, I met Garak for lunch as usual."

"You did huh?"

Julian nodded, and then laughed.

"Jadzia, don't you trust me?"

Jadzia looked him in the eye and replied, full of concern;

"Julian, just make sure you take care of yourself. We can't have you breaking down on us. Sisko's orders are for all personnel to take necessary breaks for rest and a meal."

"That's fine for the Chief's repair crews Dax, but I can't make a roomful of dying patients wait for me while I go and eat a meal can I? Don't worry. I'll get Quark to keep the medical teams supplied, okay? Can I go to bed now sir? Pretty please?"

Jadzia nodded, and Julian returned to his quarters, and fell onto his bed, just as he was, and fell asleep immediately. With a brief lull the following morning, Sisko took the opportunity to call a meeting of all his senior staff. As they trouped into the briefing room at 0630 hours, he studied them all. He felt very proud of them. They all looked worn out, but still bright eyed and alert.

Worf of course, looked exactly as he always did. He betrayed no physical weaknesses at all, tiredness or anything else. The only difference was that his scowl seemed if anything, slightly deeper than usual. Kira looked fresh and brisk. Looking at her, no one would guess that she had been up half the night working on shift rotations, trying to figure a way of getting all necessary work done without cutting out on vital R and R. Whether or not she had succeeded, Sisko was yet to find out.

Dax looked tired, but cheerful. She had been helping O'Brien in addition to her own duties because of his extra workload, but she was young and fit, and thoroughly enjoyed a challenge. Just like Dax's previous host, Jadzia thrived at times like this. Odo. Odo too had been run off his feet, and his temper seemed quite as affable as usual. He did not feel weariness in the same way as `solids' did. If anything, he was somewhat...distracted. As if he was afraid that someone would be getting up to something while he was gone.

Miles and Julian came in together. Those two had had the worst of things, by far. They were rubbing their eyes and yawning in unison, but at the same time, were laughing at some amusing anecdote or other. Miles took his seat, yawned widely, making everyone else in the room want to yawn in sympathy, and said `good morning'. Reassured that Miles was coping fine, Sisko surreptitiously turned his attention to Bashir.

Bashir looked like a corpse. Sisko doubted whether Bashir had managed to get to bed at all in the last thirty-six hours. All the same, he too was coping fine. Sisko was aware of the huge influx of casualties to the infirmary that had forced the doctor to convert many of the vacant crew quarters into a makeshift hospital ward. Bashir had also contacted the Bajoran authorities and secured a number of Bajoran nurses to come to the station to help take care of the wounded, but all the same, he and the two other doctors had had very little sleep for over a week. None of them had managed to get more than three hours sleep at a time, and surely no more than ten or eleven hours in the entire week.

They had had occasional assistance from one or two of the passing starship medical personnel, which had given the two junior doctors time for a quick break, but Bashir had been on the go almost constantly all week. Sisko knew that even Bashir would not be able to continue like this indefinitely, genetic enhancements or no. All the same, as Sisko studied the man, although he was physically exhausted, he seemed mentally stimulated. Perhaps twenty-four hours' complete rest would be enough to make those dark circles disappear from around his eyes, and make him look human again.

Sisko took a deep breath.

"You have all worked incredibly hard this last week or so, with very little sleep and almost no R & R at all, and your work has remained excellent standard. I want to thank you for all your efforts. Starfleet have no estimate of quite how long this is likely to last, but they have offered us extra teams to help out."

There were a few nods around the table, but one or two doubtful faces. Sisko grinned, guessing what was in their minds.

"In two days, the Methuselah is due to arrive with relief teams."

Dax frowned thoughtfully.

"Ben, isn't the Methuselah a Velerian Starship?"

Sisko nodded.

"It attached itself to the fleet three weeks ago, after the Velerian people were officially admitted to the Federation. Those Velerian ships are huge...they have an average crew compliment of about three and a half thousand. Their technology is not compatible with our Cardassian systems any more than starfleet technology, but their people are very highly trained."

Bashir leaned forward, unconsciously rubbing one temple as he did so.

"I've seen the inside of a Velerian starship infirmary, and they are very advanced, spacious and very impressive. They have an average of twelve doctors on their ships at any one time, and at least twice that number of nurses. I remember the Velerians themselves were very proud of it all as a matter of fact. Despite their impressive knowledge and technology, I couldn't wait to get back to the Academy. The Velerians I met were rather too bigoted and self-righteous for my taste."

"Well, the Velerians have promised to remain docked here at the station for as long as we need them. They have promised us the full use of their ship's infirmary...on one condition..."

Bashir raised an eyebrow, and Sisko looked him full in the eye.

"The Velerian Chief Medical Officer is to remain acting Chief Medical Officer whilst they are on the station."

Bashir looked stunned. He felt like he'd been kicked in the belly. The rumble of voices round the table made clear what the others thought of it too. O'Brien muttered angrily.

"Sounds like Julian was right about them. This Velerian doctor must have an ego to match the size of his ship!"

He turned enraged eyes on Sisko.

"Captain, they can't do that, send in people to help us out on the condition they are allowed to take over! We're starfleet officers, not sheep to follow blindly any pillock who..."

"Chief, that will do!"

O'Brien subsided into silence, but his hot anger was still just below the surface, ready to erupt if he let it. Sisko looked round at his crew. They all looked equally annoyed.

"Well, they have the staffing levels we need, and since they claim knowledge and experience far outreaching anything we have to offer, they have offered to send all their crewmen to help out ours, and all their department Chiefs to take over from ours until this crisis has passed. Those are their terms. They are not willing to work under our supervision."

Kira shook her head in wonder.

"They really are egotistical bigots aren't they! Captain, why would people as condescending and self-righteous as they seem to be want to join the Federation? And how did they manage to get themselves accepted? I'd have thought they would better welcome allies as bigoted as they are. Let them join the Dominion if they are so much better than the rest of us! I say stuff their assistance! We've managed so far; we can keep on managing! I for one would rather trust Julian to look after me than any high and mighty Velerian."

Sisko looked round at the others. They were all nodding their agreement. Worf was scowling fiercely at the centre of the table. Sisko turned to him last.

"What do you think, Mr Worf?"

Worf turned his scowl upon Sisko.

"The Klingon Empire once thought as the Velerians do, that they were above anyone else, especially humans, and some of the older veterans still hanker for those days. But my people have learned many valuable lessons from the Federation, and I think that eventually these Velerians will learn the same lesson. I hope they do not have to learn it in quite the hard way the Empire did. I have a different suggestion sir...The Velerians need to learn that they will not be allowed to dictate their own terms to the Federation wherever they go..."

Sisko grinned.

"Please."

"Wait until they are within a few hours of the station, and then contact their commanding officer with instructions for their crew when they arrive. Make it clear that they are welcome to offer any assistance they wish to, but their officers taking command of DS9 functions is out of the question. Any Velerian officer or crewman working on the station will consider themselves under the command of station personnel. The station personnel will do them same courtesy whilst on board their vessel. Also that the Velerian Captain will be under your orders whilst his ship remains in Bajoran space."

Sisko's grinned widened.

"I had something very like that in mind myself Mr Worf. The thing is...their arrogance is such that they are quite likely to turn their ship around when they learn of our refusal to accept their terms. It would mean us carrying on alone, as we are now. As the station's senior officers, you know your own capabilities, and those of your respective departments. It is a matter for you to decide. What do you say?"

He looked to Kira. She nodded her head.

"I say go with Mr Worf. I have already spoken to the Bajoran authorities, and they are standing by to send us extra pairs of hands in exchange for food and medical supplies."

Sisko nodded his agreement, and turned to Dax.

"What do you say old man?"

"I say not all Velerians are as arrogant as all that...but those that are stand to lose everything they've gained if they don't learn to ease up on the universe, so yes, go for it."

Sisko gave her a strange look, resolving secretly to ask her about her cryptic comment at a later time. One by one the senior staff declared that they would rather carry on as they had been doing, than to let others take over simply because they considered themselves better. Sisko nodded with satisfaction.

"Thank you people. Dismissed. Doctor Bashir, please wait for a few moments."

As the senior staff filed out, Julian waited behind until he and Sisko were alone in the room. Sisko's face took on a look of extreme concern.

"Doctor, most of the staff work in departments that can to a certain extent carry on without their direct supervision, so although we are all overworked, the rest of us have been able to get a few hours of sleep in between emergencies. How about you?"

Julian shrugged.

"Under normal circumstances sir, I would be happy to let Girani and Tarses carry on without me for a few hours, but when there are so many dying patients that I don't even have room to put more than a quarter of them in stasis, I cannot just leave them to it."

"When did you last sleep doctor?"

"I woke up when you called the crew to the meeting, sir."

"I see...and how long had you been asleep?"

Julian shook his head, trying to shrug the matter off as of no importance, but Sisko would not be put off. Finally, Julian sighed.

"Well, at least...forty-five minutes."

Sisko looked alarmed.

"Forty-five minutes? And before...this morning. How long ago did you last get sleep, and for how long?"

This time the pause was even longer.

"I had three hours sleep...five days ago sir. I've had the odd five minutes here and there in my office. When I'm not operating, I still have armloads of paperwork to do. Starfleet Medical will not let up on that, whatever the circumstances. I only have one pair of hands. Fortunately, being genetically enhanced, I need less sleep than the rest of you."

Sisko looked shocked and very dubious.

"That may be so Julian, but you don't need me to tell you how dangerous it is for you to stay awake so long. I imagine you have been using artificial methods to stay awake?"

Julian nodded.

"Yes, but only once, during a lengthy operation. The stimulants are powerful, but prolonged use has its own side- effects. I have never entirely trusted them. Captain, we are all short of sleep. This crisis will pass and then we can take all the rest we need. In the meantime, the staff shortage and lack of sufficient sleep is a problem that has plagued human doctors for centuries. It's nothing new sir. Believe me when I say that I am making sure my staff are getting the sleep they need, and I will be fine for now. Since we are still quiet Captain, perhaps I could...?"

Sisko nodded.

"Yes, you go and get some sleep while you can doctor. Goodnight!"

After ten minutes or so, Sisko enquired of the computer as to the doctor's whereabouts. The computer informed him that doctor Bashir was in his quarters. Happy for now, Sisko made his way down to the sickbay to see just how serious things really were down there.

Tarses was busy working a console beside a sleeping patient. Girani was asleep on a biobed at the far end of the room. Tarses looked up and grinned when the captain walked in. He looked weary but not especially sleepy. He nodded in response to Sisko's query.

"I had ten hours off duty sir, doctor Bashir insisted on it. I spent nine of the ten hours sleeping, the other hour eating. I feel pretty good on the whole. Girani's having a nap sir. She's been on duty for fifteen hours, but she had twelve hours off before that...interrupted only twice for routine accidents on the engineering decks. We had the assistance of three ships doctors for a few hours two days ago, which gave Girani and I time off, and just after midnight this morning, the Xanthus stopped by on their way to the Rekarian Belt, to shore up the Rekarian defenses. As they were a full day ahead of schedule, they stopped by and loaned us their entire medical staff for a few hours, which gave doctor Bashir chance to get his first wink of sleep in over a week."

Sisko raised an eyebrow.

"I happen to know that the doctor didn't go to bed at all. I believe he sat up for most of the night doing overdue paperwork. You are working with the doctor. Is he overdoing it...in your opinion?"

Tarses looked uncomfortable being asked questions of this type about his senior officer, but after an awkward pause, he shrugged uncertainly.

"If I had been working as hard as he has with as little sleep as he's had, I would be pretty much useless as a rag doll, never mind a surgeon. Doctor Bashir has enormous stamina. He's exhausted sir...don't believe him if he tells you otherwise, but he is hiding it better than I could. His mind is as sharp as ever, and his judgment unerring. He is fine for now, and he cares about his patients more than anything else. If he thinks for one second that his patients will suffer in any way... however slight, he will suspend himself from duty."

Sisko felt slightly guilty for checking up on the doctor, but Simon Tarses was as straight as a die. If he had had any misgivings about Bashir's fitness for duty through his current exhaustion, he would have said so. Sisko himself however, did not quite trust Bashir's ability to judge his own fitness. He was genetically enhanced, and naturally, the fact gave him a great deal more stamina than most men. Bashir had never tested his own abilities to their fullest limits as yet, and as a human being, he still had limitations, enhanced or not. Nine hours later, Bashir was awakened by the computer, informing him of the latest wave of casualties to arrive on the station. He bounded up, feeling refreshed and invigorated.

Quite by chance, he learned that Sisko had checked up on him earlier in the day, and to his surprise, he found he was beside himself with indignation. He was very hurt too, at the thought that Sisko had felt unable to trust the word of his own Chief Medical Officer. Did Sisko really feel that he would endanger the lives of his patients by remaining on duty without full possession of his faculties? How could the man even conceive that he could be so irresponsible? He set about his work without his usual quirky good humour, and some eight hours later, when everything had calmed down somewhat, he made his way to Sisko's office, in Ops.

He found Sisko conferring with Dax and Kira, and he looked round as Bashir appeared on the turbolift. He noted that Bashir's colour was back to normal, and he looked very much his usual self ...almost. The doctor looked very grim. Sisko wondered what this latest bad news was.

"Doctor Bashir."

Dax and Kira nodded to him, and glanced at each other apprehensively when Bashir simply ignored them and stared stonily at the captain. Dax raised her eyebrow.

"He's angry..." she muttered, as they watched Bashir march into Sisko's office, Sisko following with raised eyebrows. For several minutes they saw Bashir pacing backwards and forwards, whilst Sisko sat behind his desk, talking earnestly. They watched, as Bashir stopped still, turned to face the captain, and they saw Sisko's jaw drop as Bashir talked. Sisko stood up, and this time it was obviously an attitude of pleading or cajoling. Bashir was listening at least, but finally shook his head. There was a final exchange of words, and Bashir left the office and headed for the turbolift looking, if anything, more upset than anything else. As Kira and Dax glanced back at the office, they saw Sisko sitting with his head in his hands.

"Dax what on earth could that have been about?" Kira muttered under her breath. Dax shook her head.

"Looks like we're about to find out. Here comes Ben."

Sisko came out of his office and stood for a moment on the deck glancing round at his crew. They were all agog, and doing their best not to show it. He walked over to Kira.

"Major, I would appreciate it if you would request Bajor for a temporary doctor to be assigned to the station until Starfleet are able to send us a replacement for Doctor Bashir."

He turned and was about to walk away, when Kira grabbed his arm.

"Captain...a replacement for Julian? Why?"

Sisko looked her in the eye.

"Doctor Bashir has tendered his Starfleet resignation. He intends to leave the station when the Albatani departs in one hour."

In the deathly silence that followed, Sisko returned to his office, hearing every footstep echo behind him. He sat down, regarding his baseball balefully for a moment. When he looked up, Jadzia was stood beside his desk, staring down at him in concern.

"Ben, what happened? Why would Julian of all people resign? We all know how much his commission and his work means to him. We

all know how much he loves being on the station. Julian wouldn't just leave without a good reason."

Sisko sighed. He nodded. Jadzia sat down. Sisko picked up his baseball and began to roll it around in his hands, as though seeking comfort from it somehow.

"I made a serious error of judgement, Dax. After the staff meeting this morning, I kept Julian back and asked him how he was doing. He's been working harder than the rest of us put together. In his case, if he doesn't, people could die."

Jadzia nodded.

"Well, he's been looking pretty awful lately, though he seemed as sharp as ever."

Sisko sighed.

"You thought he was sharp too eh? Perhaps I am having trouble remembering that he is genetically enhanced. I mean, they are just words. If he is quicker, how much quicker? If he has more stamina, how much more? If he needs less sleep than the rest of us, just how much does he need? How long is it safe for him to go before he starts being a danger to himself and everyone else around him?"

"So you asked him if he was still fit for duty?"

Sisko nodded.

"He assured me he was fine. He explained that he was making sure the medical staff were getting their necessary quota of rest and that he would be fine for a while yet."

Dax stared at him.

"But you didn't believe him?"

"Dax, the man had had no sleep for over five days, and he was claiming to be fine? He looked like death already. You saw the man."

Dax nodded.

"I've seen him looking worse than that...when we were down on Bajor that time, fighting that disease that was spreading through the camps? I know just about how far he can go before he starts to make himself sick...but even when his body is breaking down Ben, his brain just keeps on working. He doesn't lose his faculties at all...only his physical health when he is overworked and without sleep."

Sisko shuddered and buried his face in his hands.

"Benjamin...Bashir knows you were concerned about him and about his work...what did you say or do that prompted him to decide to leave the station? I have never seen him as angry as that before."

"I... questioned doctor Tarses about him...A stupid mistake... I realise it now...too late."

Dax drew in her breath sharply. No wonder Julian had been so angry. To have his professional word doubted to the extent that a second opinion had been requested from his subordinate!? For a moment, she felt her gall rising in Julian's defence, but swallowed it hurriedly. Sisko met her eyes, and she saw that he had noted her reaction.

"You're not going to let him do it are you Ben?"

He spread his hands out in a helpless gesture.

"How can I stop him? The damage is done. I tried to apologise, but he was having none of it."

"Can you blame him? As far as he's concerned, you don't trust him. An apology for a lack of trust is empty and worthless. You have to have complete and utter faith in your Chief Medical Officer. Julian knows that better than anyone. I don't want him to go. We need him here...but all the same, I agree with his decision. I couldn't stay here either, if I were in his shoes."

Dax stood up.

"I'm going to go and help him pack."

She left the room, feeling upset for her old friend as well as angry at him. Sisko was no more perfect than anyone else, and his intentions had been completely innocent. He had simply been expressing concern over a member of his crew. The slightly unwise way in which he had gone about it meant that Julian's authority as well as confidence in his competence had been gravely undermined. She found Bashir in his quarters, stuffing all his belongings into a depressingly small hold-all. He looked up as she came in and dropped what he was holding.

"Jadzia."

"Julian. Sisko told me what happened."

Julian nodded. He picked up his bundle of clothes again and stuffed them into the bag. He felt Jadzia's eyes on him and felt his cheeks start to glow. He looked up sharply.

"If you want to be useful, you can grab those books from the shelf over there."

Jadzia grabbed the books obediently and packed them neatly into the case he gave her.

"So, you're going to just give it all up are you? Everything you worked so hard for? For what? Pride?"

Julian glared at her.

"Where will you go? To your family?"

He shook his head.

"Perhaps I'll visit the real Alamo."

Jadzia sat down on the edge of his bed.

"Julian be serious. You've said yourself. You belong here. This is where you want to be. You've become well loved and respected by everyone here, and well-known throughout starfleet for your medical research...you're going to give it all up because the Captain was too zealous in his concern for you?"

Julian finally lost it.

"Dax, you know damn well why I'm doing this! I know you do! Of course I don't want to go. I love the station and I will miss all of you. I suppose you're right. There probably is an element of pride in my decision, but I can't work for a captain who will not accept my word when I give it. I know how much there is at stake when a doctor is over-tired, far better than Sisko does! I can understand why he did what he did...from his point of view. All very innocent I'm sure. If he had asked you about my capabilities, or the CMO from one of the ships passing through...or even a staff doctor from another vessel I would not split hairs. The patients' welfare comes first always. But if he cannot believe me when I give him my own medical opinion about my own state of health, and goes on to question my staff about my competence to do my job...well tell me Commander... what would you have done?"

Dax nodded.

"I would have been angry. Just like you. But I would not have blown up and resigned!"

Julian simmered down a little.

"Perhaps, but your job does not involve people's lives."

He crammed the last few objects into his bag and struggled with the straps. When they were tightly closed, he dumped then on the floor and looked up at her.

"I will miss you Jadzia. Worf is a lucky man."

She would not trust herself to speak. She simply hugged him.

When she had gone, he grabbed his bags and hoisted them onto his shoulder. On the way to the nearest turbolift, he tapped his commbadge.

"Bashir to Chief O'Brien."

The voice came back immediately.

"O'Brien here. What can I for you Julian?"

"Please meet me at Upper pylon three in ten minutes. It is important."

"On my way."

The crew of the Albatani was boarding already. Bashir waited next to the airlock until Miles appeared a minute or so late.

"What's this...?" he paused in mid-sentence as he saw his friend's luggage on his shoulders, and the look on his face.

"Julian, what's this about? Where are you off to?"

Julian dropped his bags to the floor.

"I don't know. Earth first probably. I've resigned Miles. I'm leaving the station. I'm not coming back."

Miles looked dumbfounded. Finally, he found his voice.

"Julian! No! Why? Julian stay and talk about it. Please! Why are you going? What's happened?"

Julian shook his head.

"Miles, I wanted to say goodbye to you. Please say goodbye to everyone else for me. Nerys and Odo and Quark and Morn and

everyone. If we talk about it, you'll try and change my mind, and I can't. Ask Jadzia after I've gone. Goodbye Miles. I'll contact you."

Miles watched, as his best friend entered the airlock. The Albatani detached itself from the station, and moments later, had gone into warp. Julian Bashir, the best doctor he had ever known, and his very best friend...was gone. When Miles appeared in ops, he was surprised at how crowded the room was. The entire senior staff was there, including Odo. Only Bashir was conspicuous by his absence. They glanced round at him and nodded, but nobody seemed surprised to see him. The shock news about Doctor Bashir's sudden resignation and departure from the station had gone round like wildfire, leaving everyone stunned. Bashir could be a very irritating person at times, and often appeared to care about his work to the exclusion of all else; but he really cared about his patients, and about his colleagues. He was highly respected and well loved...by most of the station's inhabitants, anyway. Sisko came out of his office and stood outside the door, looking vaguely irritated, but also uncomfortable at this demonstration from his staff.

"What's this all about people?" he demanded, knowing full well what the answer was. Miles raised his voice.

"I've just watched Julian leave in the Albatani, captain. He was with you before he packed his bags, according to the computer. Did you fire him?"

Sisko shook his head.

"Alright everyone. I'll say this once, and then I expect everyone to return to their duties. Julian has officially resigned from Starfleet and from this station. As Dax has pointed out to me, I made a single foolish error, but it's too late."

Miles shook his head.

"It's never too late Captain. It's only too late if you're prepared to give up and let him give up everything he's been working so hard for. Have you given up on him?"

"I have filed his resignation...in my head for the time being, not with Starfleet. As far as Starfleet Medical is concerned, Doctor Bashir is on Sabbatical. Bajor is adequately seeing to our medical needs until Bashir's return."

A murmur went round the room, like a breeze rustling through trees.

O'Brien spoke again, this time in slightly softer tones.

"Are you going after him then, captain?"

Sisko narrowed his eyes, then made up his mind and nodded.

"Yes, and you're coming with me. We leave at 0600 hours."

Captain Sisko contacted the captain of the Albatani on subspace.

"Captain Voss? This is Sisko, on Deep Space Nine."

Captain Voss's smiling face appeared on the screen.

"Ben! Your people have done a bang up job on this old bucket. Thanks old friend! Your operations chief is one hell of an engineer. He really should be an officer, you know."

"Oh, O'Brien is one of the best alright. Listen Jack, you have my CMO on your ship...or should I say, my former CMO. How is he?"

Jack Voss's face fell slightly.

"Doctor Julian Bashir! That man will be a huge loss to the medical field, Ben. I don't know what happened between you back there, but the man is heartbroken. My CMO is upset that doctor Bashir has resigned, and tried to talk to him but to no avail. I tried to talk to him myself, but he wouldn't tell me a single thing. I suggested that transferring to a different posting might be less drastic than leaving Starfleet, but he's made up his mind. Whatever his problem is, he feels that a transfer will not solve anything. He has a dagger straight through his heart all right. I expected him to offer his services to our sickbay, but he won't go near the place. If you're calling me to try and get him to talk to you, I'd say you're wasting your time."

Sisko nodded.

"I guess what it boils down to is the fact that I offended his professional pride...As my chief medical officer I should have believed him when I asked him how he was coping, but I didn't. It never occurred to me that he might really be fine...so I sought a second opinion."

Voss frowned.

"I know how overworked you have all been there lately, so I can understand where you're coming from Ben. Why should that upset him so much? Is he really so touchy?"

"Well...it's not the fact that I spoke to someone else about his competency...it's the fact that I went to a member of his own medical staff...one of his junior doctors..."

"Aah!" Voss nodded. "Professional pride is the least of your worries Ben. And if I remember rightly, the man is genetically enhanced, which puts him a cut above the usual officer anyway doesn't it? You do have a problem."

Sisko sighed.

"Well...I want him back. More than that, my crew want him back. The people of Bajor are willing to supply me medical assistance, but only on the condition that I persuade doctor Bashir to come back. My being their emissary to the prophets... those wormhole aliens... changes nothing about the fact that the Bajorans have a profound respect for Bashir...even though he has no idea of it. He stopped an outbreak of a deadly virus in its tracks a few years ago that was rampaging through the camps. They feel safe knowing that Bashir is on the station ready to fight for them if they need it. If I don't get him to come back, I might have to leave myself or risk facing ostracism from my own people."

"Well, to be honest Ben, I doubt if any of those reasons will cut any ice with him. His problem is with you, personally. If you're going to get him to withdraw his resignation, you will have to make him believe that what you did was a genuine error of judgment, and not an example of your mistrust. I'll tell you what Ben. As soon as he asks me to drop him off somewhere, I'll let you know where. Right now we're headed to Earth to pick up extra crew and supplies, before we return to the front lines, but there is no way of knowing whether he intends to stay with us until we get to Earth, or if he intends to leave en route. Right now he doesn't appear to know himself where he's going or what he intends to do. I'll call you. Stay by the phone!"

With that ancient quip, he smiled and cut transmission. Sisko sat back in his chair, wondering where this would end up.

Julian Bashir stood by the window in his quarters on the Albatani, watching the galaxy passing by at warp. Some of the closer systems passing in a blur, but the farthest specks of light, barely moving. He would normally be at Quark's about now, playing darts with Miles. He frowned, and started to pace up and down, trying to sort out and control the conflicting emotions raging within him. He had never felt quite that way before. The anger he had felt scared him, horribly. He was genetically enhanced. A monster in his own mind still, even though he no longer had to hide it; and the reality of the thing was that he was a potential Khan if he allowed his emotions to rule his head.

He could take over this ship without any effort on his part...if he decided to...and that knowledge scared him so much, he found himself biting his lip. The thing had got beyond Sisko and his mistrust now. Sisko had caused this unreasonable anger to come up, that he had found so difficult to control. How could he allow himself any position of authority ever again, knowing that he had such feelings inside of him, just waiting for the wrong insult to come at the wrong time?

He was a brilliant doctor. He knew he was, without any need for boasting. But that did not make him a brilliant human being. It did not mean that he was qualified to be in any position of authority, because even though he had controlled himself thus far, he was by no means certain that he would be able to do so in the future. What he needed was time. Time on his own, time to think about his future, his past, and what to do with his life now that he had completely thrown away everything that mattered to him.

Captain Benjamin Sisko, and Chief Miles O'Brien boarded the Defiant, with Jake Sisko on their heels. They were headed for Earth, and Jake was coming in order to visit his grandfather. The two Siskos settled into their cabin on the Defiant for the trip to Earth. It was a basic cabin for a ship of war. A narrow strip of room, with bunks built along one wall, and about two or three feet away, on the opposite wall, a computer screen and terminal, a replicator and wash-basin...all built cosily into the wall in order to better utilise valuable ship-space. Jake hoisted himself up to the top bunk, and lay there, hanging slightly over the edge watching his father splashing his face.

"Dad, do you think you're going to be able to get Doctor Bashir to come back home?"

His father turned, for a second the `I hope so' on the edge of his tongue, but it faltered when he saw his son's face. Jake had been through some tough times himself with the doctor, the time they answered a call for assistance from that hospital on the front lines a year or two back, that had been under heavy Klingon fire for days. Jake had learned some hard lessons then, and he had learned a great deal about Bashir too. He had grown to respect the man, far more than he could ever have done under normal circumstances. Jake was growing up. He shook his head.

"I don't know son." he said finally, "I hope so but...I doubt it somehow. Julian can be so damn stubborn when he wants to."

"Does he know you filed his resignation as a sabbatical?"

"I haven't told him...but he's bound to find out sooner or later."

Jake rolled over and gazed up at the upper deck for a moment, but he seemed to be mulling over events. Something seemed to be troubling him. Finally, he voiced it.

"Dad...do you want him back on the station?"

Sisko was startled by the question, not least because of the depths of his son's knowledge of him.

"Of course! He's invaluable, and Dax and Kira and the rest of the senior staff are really upset at losing him."

Jake shook his head. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and looked his father in the eye.

"Dad, Kira and Dax and the others regard Doctor Bashir as a friend. If he had simply decided to move on in the normal way, they would have been upset, might have tried to change his mind, but in the end they would have accepted his decision. They're all upset because this came up out of the blue, thanks to you. They're hoping that a simple apology from you with a promise attached will make it all better. But you...you don't like him. You've never really liked Doctor Bashir very much and you'd be happy if he never came back. If you're not really sincere about wanting him back, how do you expect to persuade him?"

Sisko gave his son a cold hard stare.

"Jake, I don't dislike Julian...It's just that...I find him too...young. He is a fine officer, a brilliant young doctor...he just..."

"...talks too much?"

Sisko nodded.

"See! You see it too."

Jake frowned, shaking his head.

"But that's because he's a scientist. Scientists are all the same. Jadzia's the same when it comes to her favourite subjects, and yet you sit and listen to her with a silly lopsided grin. Doctor Bashir has a lot of different sides to him, and you need to spend time with him...like I did...like Mr O'Brien had to...like most of us have done at one time or another. Except you, dad. You don't understand his personality. He puzzles you. If you knew him like the rest of us know him, this problem would never have happened."

Sisko did not reply. Jake raised an eyebrow.

"Dad?"

"Well?"

"You're scared of him aren't you? You're afraid of what he could do if he wanted to. You wanted him to be unfit, because it would have made him fallible."

Jake rolled over on his bunk and faced the wall, thus ending the conversation. Sisko watched his son for several moments, then crept silently from the room.

He had frequently argued with Jake over all manner of things, and yet, where his work was concerned, Jake had never expressed an opinion or ever openly disagreed with him. This time was different. All around the ship, wherever his crew was, he could feel the silent criticism in all their eyes...and this time Jake was with them, against him. He tapped his commbadge.

"Computer, location of Chief O'Brien."

"Chief O'Brien is in his quarters." the computer informed him in tones that also seemed to contain subtle shades of disapproval. He shook his head, telling himself it was his imagination, and made his way to O'Brien's quarters. O'Brien opened the door and seemed very surprised to see his captain standing there.

"Hello Captain..." Miles said uncertainly. "You wanna come in sir?"

Sisko nodded.

"I wanted to talk to you in private. Your quarters seemed as good a place as any..."

Miles nodded.

"About Julian."

"Yes. Dax told you what happened?"

Miles nodded.

"Yes she did sir."

"And?"

"I can't blame the doctor for being so upset about it sir. We all have our own areas of expertise...and we hold our positions because we are good at what we do. Julian is one of the best sir, and he works as hard as anyone else. To be doubted by the man he admires the most is..."

"Wait...what was that you said? Bashir admires...? Me?"

Miles nodded.

"You didn't know sir?"

Sisko shook his head.

"I had no idea. Off the record Chief...I find Bashir very...difficult to talk to. Of course, we can work very closely together as starfleet officers, and he knows how to obey orders, but...off duty I can't seem to get inside the man."

Miles was shaking his head.

"Captain, no one says you have to. We are all different. Some of us get on much better than others. Julian and Worf don't get on for example. They rub each other up the wrong way all the time."

Sisko looked surprised.

"They don't? Because of Dax I suppose..."

Miles shook his head.

"No, not because of Dax. Well, partly maybe. Julian resents Worf a little bit because he is still in love with Jadzia himself. That's no secret. Worf resents Julian for the same reason. Also, being a big, brave Klingon, Worf is suspicious of doctors. Not just Julian...ALL doctors. I remember on the Enterprise, he suffered agony for days once, rather than go to see Doctor Crusher for medical assistance. On top of that, there are one or two personality traits in each of them that the other finds totally incomprehensible."

Miles laughed.

"On duty, when they are thinking about their work, they can work as closely together as anyone. Off duty, their paths cross as infrequently as possible. When they do, they are polite and respectful to one another. What more is needed? Julian would still trust Worf with his life, and Worf would trust Julian. More than that, Worf

trusts Julian with Jadzia's life...and that means a great deal coming from a Klingon warrior. Julian knows that you and he don't always see eye to eye on personal matters, but it isn't really important is it? He was quite happy knowing that you respected and trusted him as the station's Chief Medical officer."

Sisko sighed.

"It doesn't help any to say so now, but I really did not intend to hurt him, and I do trust him. I've always trusted his professional judgment. Jake pointed out to me that I might be secretly afraid of him...of what he might be capable of. I can't deny that he may be right."

Miles frowned.

"Because of his genetic enhancements? Sir, if you don't mind my saying, you really need to spend some time alone with him. I mean a lot of time, like the rest of us have done. He's no different to the man who first came on board the station five years ago. I think Jake may be right. I suspect that your doubting Julian has made him start to doubt himself. If you aren't completely sure of him yourself when you see him, you'll never be able to help him. You'll never get him back. We might all lose him."

Sisko nodded sadly.

"Jake wants to visit his grandfather...I want to go see him myself for a day or two and get things straight in my head before I decide how to tackle Julian. My father is wiser than anyone else I know."

Miles grinned.

"I believe it captain. What do you want me to do?"

"Find Julian. If he hasn't already found out, tell him that he hasn't resigned, but that he is on sabbatical, and he still has the choice of coming back with us if he wants to. Beyond that...it's up to you Chief. You know him better than I do. I'll contact you in a couple of days."

Miles smiled and took Sisko's proffered hand.

"Captain...we'll find him."

Sisko left, and Miles lay back on his bunk, thinking over all the things they had discussed, and the things they had left unsaid. Sisko had made a mistake...no problem, no one is perfect. But this mistake could have far-reaching consequences if Miles was right about Julian's state of mind. If he was no longer sure of himself, then he would be easier to provoke, easier to lose control of himself. He could even prove a danger to be feared. Miles, as Julian's closest friend was being trusted to find him, find the hole in his friend's confidence, and plug the leak. Somehow...Miles had an idea where he might find him...

To Be Continued . . .?


	2. Chapter 2 - The Alamo

AUTHER'S NOTE: To all my readers, patiently waiting for the conclusion of this story…sorry for making you wait so long. Time and other projects have delayed matters longer than I intended. However, I am now working on it! I could wait and post the whole conclusion when it is finished, and some may well prefer that. However, I will instead finish it as separate chapters, because I will find it easier to update this way, and readers will not have to wait quite so long. I will try and update at the rate of a chapter a week. (More if time and my muse allows).

Chapter two

The Alamo

Julian Bashir hauled his duffel more securely on his shoulder as he stepped from the shuttlecraft.

"Thanks lieutenant."

"Sir."

He looked around him, and somehow felt a sense of letdown. He had somehow expected this place to be the same as it has been four hundred or more years ago, but it was now as geared to modern life as any place he had ever visited. The old Mission, known as _the Alamo_ was still there, carefully preserved in all its glory, but was surrounded and dwarfed by modern day San Antonio. A Starfleet landing station was situated directly behind the old Mission building, and the constant coming and going of Starfleet shuttles and runabouts completely ruined the ambiance of the place that Julian always felt whenever he visited the holodeck version. He shook his head, uncertain whether to be upset or amused at his own naivety. How could he have expected it to be completely unchanged after so long? Modern twenty-fourth century living imposed itself everywhere these days. Was it really this place that he wanted? The original Alamo? Would he have been better off to remain on DS9 and just take up permanent residence in the holosuite? Was it the connection to the past he was after? Was it the implied peace and solitude? If that was the case, then he must be going loopy. Find peace at a place famed for being the setting of an infamous war for independence?

Julian stared at the building, and for five minutes he watched the visitors, both human and non-human being guided around and shook his head. This was not what he came here for. He turned his back and headed toward the city.

It took him no time to find himself a room. He turned his back on the hotels geared for ones such as himself, and checked into a small Inn. An old fashioned, twenty-first century place that smelled of old beer and tobacco…although Julian knew that was not due to the use of tobacco. Such things had died out a long time ago. This was part of the historical fascination that some people held for places like this, and the smells were all a part of the charm…apparently. He wrinkled his nose unconsciously; but all the same, he liked this place. There was a kind of invisibility about it that appealed to him. It seemed to blend in with all the historical setting, and was as far flung from the modern day as could be imagined.

His room was old fashioned as well. No computer terminal…At least not a computer that any modern traveler would recognize. There was a sort of upright, flattish screen set up independently on a desk, with a large black box sat behind it, and a keyboard on the desk in front.

A keyboard…that meant this was a computer, or at least a mock-up of one from before the advent of speech control. Interesting. The bed was very ordinary, and comfortable enough. A fluffy rug in the middle of the floor. Along one wall sat an array of oak furniture; a wardrobe, a dressing table with a mirror on top, and a chest of drawers. No replicator, no food synthesizer, no communicator array, or anything from the era that would serve as the equivalent. Julian had no idea what they would have called the things, but he was content enough. He looked down at his commbadge. It would not be difficult for anyone to find him through this thing. He fished through his bag and drew out a medical instrument, like a long thin metallic rod, but flat, with the tip bent to an angle. He turned the commbadge over and using this metallic rod, he opened it up and peered interestedly at the interior workings. Then with a sly smile, he started working on it.

Within ten minutes, his commbadge had been reassembled, but with the locator beacon removed. It meant that it was still useful as a communicator, and he could be easily located by someone communicating with him by tracing the signal, but they would no longer be able to find and zero in on his commbadge signal. Anyone trying to contact him would only find him if he bothered to answer. Thus, the choice was his. Assuming there was anyone left who cared.

A small stack of paper on the bedside table turned out to be some sort of information pack. Descriptions of twenty-fourth century San Antonio written as though the reader was himself a traveler from the twenty-first century. The pack contained information concerning where to go and where to find other period specific establishments, and where in the city a traveler could go if he wanted to find places time specific to the Alamo itself.

Julian started to read even more interestedly.

The following morning, dressed in his casual clothing; comfortable brown slacks, a brown and gold patterned short-sleeved top and a chocolate brown fedora. He had ditched his black Starfleet boots for something altogether less formal, and less noticeable. He stared at his commbadge for several moments, then slipped it into his pocket, leaving disassembled locator beacon crushed into powder in the litter bin.

Downstairs he accepted a mug of coffee and a croissant, and thoroughly enjoyed them, then spoke to the proprietor.

"Excuse me, does the Old Coach still run trips to the old mine?"

The man grinned.

"That it does. Twenty-first Century living still too modern for you, my friend?"

Julian nodded.

"Something like that."

"Well the Old Coach comes past here once a day. You take it down to the old mine, you will have to stay there until tomorrow, because it goes only once a day…unless you want to call for transport of course."

"Call for transport? Whatever do you mean?" Julian smiled. "That will be fine. Can you keep my room for me? I will be back in a few days, I'm sure."

The man's brow wrinkled.

"Are you all right, boy? You seem a little…I don't know… disjointed…"

Julian gave a short, humourless laugh.

"Yes, I suppose I am a little."

The man told him to wait and turned away to pour him something from a bottle into a glass and handed it over.

"Here son, on the house. I save this for deserving cases. The Coach will be here in ten minutes. In the meantime, this will light a fire in your soul."

Julian drank it down and coughed once. It was a scotch, or something very like it, but stronger and more fiery than anything he had ever tasted before. It hit his stomach like a fireball, where he could feel it continuing to simmer, warming him through to his toenails.

"Wow! You had better not give me another one of those. I could quickly develop a taste for that!"

The man grinned widely.

"I had a feeling you needed a pick-me-up of sorts. You look like you have had a hard time lately?"

"You might say that. Thank you for your kindness. I'll see you in a couple of days."

Julian smiled and left the bar. The proprietor watched him go, shaking his head to himself. It was rare that that stuff did not work. Usually one sip of that stuff had his patrons weeping over the bar, telling him all their troubles. This customer was a lot more resistant to the ancient charm of the sympathetic barman than anyone else he had encountered. He wondered who he was?

The Old Coach looked, on the outside, like an old fashioned stagecoach, but rather larger than would have been customary back in the day. It was pulled by eight black horses, each of them wearing a large diamond, or that was what it looked like on first glance, on their foreheads as part of a decorative headdress. Julian frowned. Diamonds would not have been any part of a horse's livery at any time in history, unless owned by some wealthy magnate or something, so why here and now?

He was in the city, and an old mine would have likely been on some hillside somewhere outside of town, which might take a long time to travel by old fashioned stagecoach. Julian sat back against the padded seat. They were disguised remote transporters. The coach itself probably had one too, and each of these remote transporters would be linked to each other, under the control of the coachman. They would transport the worst part of the journey, to save the horses and to save spending days at a time traveling. No wonder the coach only went once each day. So much for immersing himself in the twenty-first or, indeed, nineteenth century world. Earth was completely made over to the modern world these days. Citizens who preferred the more old-fashioned and traditional way of life had to move off-world. Julian could have done that…he still could, but that connection with home, and with real people who fought real battles for their causes, people who laughed and cried, fought and died, that true history of which he too was a part, would be missing.

These worlds were of course, busily forging their own history, but Julian needed a connection. Something to anchor himself to, especially since he had never felt that he could have any real connection or anchor to his family, his parents. His home-world, though, was another matter. Regardless of his personal history, Earth, he felt, was part of him. Why else did he prefer to relive ancient earth battles rather than those of other worlds? Those other, off world battles might have been more exciting, or more successful, but he had no personal connection to them, no personal reason to want to immerse himself into the emotions of those who were there. They did not represent home. That was why he had chosen the real Alamo of course, quite forgetting that it would not still be the way it used to be. The way it still was in his holo-program.

Trying to immerse himself in the past whilst still living in the middle of a very modern city on a very modern planet was probably futile. Best to just go along with it for now. He could get as primitive as he desired if he simply walked into the surrounding countryside and lost himself. It was not as if he didn't know how to survive out there after all. His medical training had included detailed knowledge of earth's flora and fauna, things that could be eaten and those to avoid, things that could have a medical use and those whose medical properties were simply old wives' tales. Perhaps that was what he truly needed? Space to get back to nature, figure out who and what he truly was before deciding which direction his life should go next.

Having finally settled so much in his mind, he settled himself down and closed his eyes, trying very hard to relax his body and turn off his mind. Finally, as the coach bumped over the uneven road surface, the alcohol he had swallowed started to do its work, and he slept.


	3. Chapter 3 - Searching

Miles O'Brien shifted his duffel more comfortably on his shoulder as he beamed down to Starfleet Academy base in San Francisco. He was uncomfortable at the job Sisko had given him. Sisko was the one who had misunderstood and mishandled Bashir, why was he not the one to do the searching?

Secretly of course, he knew why. Benjamin Sisko simply did not know Julian. With the whole planet to search, Sisko would have no chance of locating Julian if he did not want or intend to be found. Miles on the other hand, had one or two ideas of where he might begin. Even so, he knew his chances of finding his friend under the circumstances were slim at best.

The Defiant, in orbit around Earth, had despatched Sisko directly into his father's kitchen. Sisko was feeling pretty bad about the whole situation, that much was obvious. Miles was shocked to find that he was much less sympathetic to Sisko's plight than he had expected. Sisko still did not much care for Julian, and were he to please only himself, Miles felt sure Sisko might even have offered to pack his bag for him. No, he had been shocked at the strength of the reaction he had received from the rest of the crew. Even Jadzia had been livid on Julian's behalf, and of anyone on the station, she was the one who knew and understood Sisko the best. So, Miles was to search and find his friend, try to talk him round, and if, as he expected, Julian refused to listen, he was to contact Benjamin Sisko who would transport to Julian's side to speak with him in person.

Miles shook his head sadly.

The whole plan was bad in his opinion. Sisko should be doing this. Julian would expect his friend to come and find him, even help him if need be, but not to betray his hiding place to the very man who had caused Julian's pain, however ignorantly.

Well, Miles was not about to worry himself about any of that right now. The first thing was to try and find his best friend. He had no idea where Julian would really be, but he had an idea about where he might have gone first. He entered the transport center and asked about the availability of a shuttle flight to the Starfleet landing station in San Antonio.

Miles was a practically minded man, much less imaginative than Julian Bashir, and he had had no illusions about the Alamo being unchanged despite four centuries or more of progress and modernization. The building itself once he entered was pretty much as the holo-version of itself, but there was no Julian there. Gentle enquiries elicited no clue that he had ever been there at all. If Julian had come here, he may not have given a name, at least his own name, but unless he was deliberately in disguise, Miles was sure he would have been noticed and remembered. The women in their period costumes, in their booth offering trinkets to visitors, Julian would doubtless be the image of their romantic idyll. Tall, slender, dark and damned handsome, well spoken. They would have remembered him all right if he had been in this place.

Could he have been wrong? Where else on earth would Julian have possibly wanted to head for? He was hardly likely to visit his mother, was he? Or his father in prison? Miles frowned and exited the gate and stood for a moment, imagining himself in his frend's shoes. If Julian _had_ come here, and somehow, Miles was certain that he would have headed first for _The Real Alamo_ ; what thoughts would have passed through his mind standing here in seeing the place in the flesh? Whatever it was Julian thought he was running away to, would he still believe he would find it here? Miles did not think so. His heart paled, however, at the thought of searching a city the size of San Antonio.

He could try his communicator, but would Julian answer it? Trying to contact him would alert Julian that his friends and possibly colleagues were on earth, and might serve to push him further away rather than serve to reunite them. No, no communicator. Not right now. Miles would find his friend, if it was the last thing he did, he would find him.

For five days Miles walked the streets of San Antonio, visiting restaurants and cafeterias, hotels, souvenir boutiques, tailoring establishments, and every place he could find where visitors might go. No one remembered hearing Bashir's name, and no one recognized the likeness of Bashir that Miles had produced to aid in his search. Finally, having trudged virtually the entire circuit of the city, feeling tired and almost ready to give up and decide he had been mistaken after all, he found himself down a narrow side-street and entering the door of a little inn. Ancient looking, styled on some long-gone by-passed era, it reeked of old alcohol and something Miles had smelt only once before in one of Julian's holosuite-programmes, tobacco smoke. Wrinkling his nose slightly, he entered, feeling slightly dispirited. At the bar, the barman gave him a searching look.

"Long day?"

"Long week!" Miles replied. "Glass of water please."

The barman beamed.

"I can give you something a mite stronger than that…"

Mile held up his hand.

"Thank you, I appreciate the offer, but for now I need to keep a clear head." He fished in his pocket for the mini holo-generator and switched on the hologram of Julian Bashir.

"I'm searching for my best friend. Here. I don't suppose you remember seeing him around do you?"

The barman took the device and Miles saw the spark of recognition.

"Yeah, he has a room here, two floors up…or is it three floors…? I forget. Yeah, the guy with the passion for history. What was his name now…I looked him up I the register…Jerry Bonden. That was it."

Miles' eyebrows rose in surprise. _Jerry Bonden_? For Bashir, a lover of spies and spy novels, to pick out the name of the twentieth century super-spy James Bond's alter ego was either very foolish or a stroke of genius. Miles was familiar with the name. He had been dragged into enough of Julian's holonovels before his friend Felix had agreed to write him some unique role-play spy stories. This had to be Julian.

"That's him!" he cried out. "Is he in his room? I really need to speak to him."

To his dismay, the barman shook his head.

"The first day here he took the coach out to the Old Mine, promising he would be back in a few days, but that's the last we have seen of him."

Miles nodded.

"Was he all right?"

The barman nodded.

"Sure, he seemed fine. You've missed the coach for today I'm afraid. It goes up there once a day, and that's it. You need to wait until tomorrow if you are planning on following him there."

"I see…in that case, any chance of a room here? Just for tonight?"

He shook his head.

"No, we had an influx of visitors here yesterday of off-world families visiting their sons and daughters attending the Starfleet Academy science division…there is a field study center just outside of town. Many of them enjoy our traditional welcome."

"Oh, I see…well, perhaps you would allow me to sleep in my friend's room? Just for tonight? Seeing as he isn't using it and it is sitting empty? I'll take the coach tomorrow to find him."

The barman frowned.

"Is your friend in any trouble?"

Miles shook his head.

"No, but he's recently had a massive shock…I am worried about him."

"You're Starfleet aren't you?"

Miles nodded.

"Is he Starfleet?"

Mile hesitated to answer.

"If he chooses to be…look, if that offer is still open, I think I could…"

The barman reached for a bottle and poured out a measure into a small glass.

"There, that will warm you through. I believe you, and yes, you can use his room tonight, unless Mister Bonden himself returns."

Miles sipped his drink and whistled.

"Wow!"

His host grinned but said nothing. When Miles had recovered sufficiently from his coughing fit, he gazed up at the barman with his eyes watering.

"If he does come back he'll be happy to see me…" he shook his head and down the last of the fiery liquid.

"At least…I hope he will…"


	4. Chapter 4 - The Decision

Miles awakened with a headache. The sun was glaring through the window where he had forgotten to close the curtains and the heat was becoming oppressive. He thought again about his concerns from yesterday, and he shook his head.

Was he really prepared to find Julian, only to give him away to Sisko? He could contact Sisko and give him the current directions and let Sisko carry on alone from here.

Or, he could find Julian, assuming that it was possible, and try and persuade the younger man to see Sisko. Which would be the better option?

What did he really prefer himself? The one thing Sisko wanted him to do would be to find the doctor, then call and let Sisko transport there. No way. There was no way Miles could do that. To hell with his orders! Julian was his friend, and the one thing you did not do to a friend was betray them. Regardless of the captain's intentions, betrayal is how Julian would view it.

So, what should he do? Should he call Julian after all? Doubtless Julian would have disassembled the locator, but he wouldn't be such a fool as to leave himself without a working communicator. Miles got out of bed, the lack of a sonic shower making him feel grimy and uncomfortable. There was a bath in which he could immerse himself, but the water was cold. Miles settled for washing himself whilst standing over the sink, and despite the arctic temperature of the water, he was hotter still by the time he finished. He dressed himself, packed up his few belongings and went back downstairs to the bar. The barman was still there, as though he had not moved from the night before.

"If you still want to take that coach, you have about ninety minutes."

Miles nodded.

"Great. I have to make a call. I'll return in time for the coach."

He strolled back to the main street and found his way to a communications office.

"Starfleet." Miles said as the girl eyed him. She nodded and gestured to a door beside the counter. Starfleet officers were entitled to use the facilities freely in going about their official business. As far as Miles was concerned, this was official Starfleet business. He was under orders after all.

Miles found a private room and made a secure direct connection to the Sisko Restaurant. Captain Sisko answered the call. Miles could see his expression. He looked expectant.

"Mister O'Brien, you have news for me?"

"Yes and no, captain."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I have a good lead, but I haven't found him yet."

"Well done, chief. Call me again when you have found him…"

Miles cut him off.

"Excuse me captain, but in all conscience, I really cannot do that."

Sisko's face froze.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Sir, whether Julian has left Starfleet altogether or he is just on sabbatical, he is still entitled to his privacy. If he wishes to hide himself away somewhere without telling anyone else, then he really has that right sir. I feel that for me to find him and then give you his direct location, would be a betrayal of our friendship, and I cannot do it. You cannot officially order me to do that, sir…and I don't believe you would try."

Sisko dropped his head.

"You are right of course, chief. So, what do I do? Without your assistance, I have no chance of finding him."

"Well, captain, you could do a little sleuthing of your own…I have left you one or two clues…If I find doctor Bashir, I will try and persuade him to let you talk to him, but I will not do anything to give away his location. Captain…?"

Sisko nodded.

"Very well, Mister O'Brien. Thank you for contacting me…and chief?"

"Captain?"

"I value your honesty."

"Sir."

Miles severed the connection and sat back. Okay, any Starfleet captain worth his pips should be able to track him down this far at least, and from there it was simple time and trial and error. Even though, Miles knew that it was by no means certain that he would find Julian himself at the end of all this. Still, time to catch that coach and see what happens.

DS9DS9DS9DS9DS9DS9

Benjamin Sisko sat and stared at the blank screen for several minutes before he got up. His father was leaning against the desk, his arms folded, watching him.

"So, you're going to go off and try and find your doctor, are you?"

Sisko nodded.

"Why Ben? Why bother? If you don't trust the man, ask for someone else! There must be many Starfleet doctors who would jump at the chance to work at that space station of yours."

"My people want him back."

Joseph frowned.

"What difference does that make one way or the other, Ben? _You_ are the captain. What you say, goes. _Period_!"

Sisko shook his head.

"It isn't quite that simple, dad."

"Of course it is, son! It is just that simple! That is why you were made the captain. If your doctor chose to leave Starfleet, that is his choice."

"But it was my fault he left!"

"Yes, so you said." Joseph's voice was low now. He looked up again.

"Son, listen to me. You need to have it completely clear in your own mind why he should come back. From what you tell me, you undermined his authority in his own sickbay, in his eyes at least. Something that you would take exception to if someone questioned your own orders on your station in front of your own people. But I suspect in the case of your doctor, you have a bigger problem on your hands than just a case of undermined authority. If you have demonstrated to him that you don't trust his judgment, whether you meant to do that or not, then don't you think it is possible that he has started to doubt himself?"

Sisko nodded.

"Chief O'Brien said the same thing to me. I think that Jake has me pretty pegged actually."

Joseph's face cracked into an unwilling smile.

"Yes, that boy of yours is pretty smart. What did he say?"

"He pointed out to me that I am afraid of Bashir…because of his genetic background, who knows what he could be capable of? I've thought about that a lot, dad. I think he's right."

Joseph nodded.

"So, what are you going to do?"

Sisko folded his arms, chewing his lip. What _was_ he going to do?

DS9DS9DS9DS9DS9DS9DS9

Miles O'Brien opened his eyes as the noisy, bumpy coach jerked to a halt. He now had a sore backside and a crick in his neck where he had fallen asleep in the coach at an uncomfortable angle. He hoisted his duffel and climbed down. He waved at the coachman and watched as three Vulcans and two Bolians climbed inside for the return journey. He watched as the coach vanished out of sight, and turned and looked around.

He was standing on a dusty road, halfway up a mountain. The road itself was narrow and wound its way round the circumference of the mountain. Right here though, the road had been widened into a large wide circular space, large enough for a coach and horses to turn full circle easily. Below him was the mountain, and the plains stretching out in the distance. Behind him the road continued to wend its way higher, up to where the rocks ended and the forests began. How much higher would he need to go? Did Julian Bashir really come up here? Why would he be interested in some old mine anyway?

Miles took a deep breath, and started the trudge up the steep incline.


	5. Chapter 5 - Facing the Fear

The sun peeped peevishly through brief breaks in the black storm clouds as the coach with its single sleeping passenger arrived at its destination. The coachman waited for several seconds, and then with a grunt, he dropped down from his perch atop the carriage and peered in through the door.

The young man was curled up fast asleep on the floor of the carriage, the way a small animal might curl itself up to sleep. Nothing in the way of a target for either a missile or even for jeering. He looked…young. He tapped the young fellow on the knee and grinned when Julian instantly woke up and bumped his head against the underside of the seat.

"Careful there. We've arrived. If you want to get out, make it now. I'll be headin' back to San Antonio in three minutes."

Julian got up and thanked the coachman, and climbed down. He had brought nothing with him, no bag or anything. He reflected that if one was trying to get away from everything, what would be the point of packing it all up and bringing it along?

He shook his head at the coachman's assumption that he would want to return the following day. The man frowned in puzzlement.

"You want to stay here? Why?"

Julian shrugged.

"Why not? You're here every day. I'll be here on time when I wish to return, and if not I have a communicator that I can use if I need to."

"You really do want to `get away from it all', don't you? Have fun. I mean it."

The coach and horses disappeared down the track, and Julian looked around.

He was on the side of a high hill, that looked out over miles and miles of scenery. Above him the hill disappeared into the clouds. He was standing on a wide, dusty road cut into the hillside that had been widened at this place to enable a coach and horses to turn through one hundred and eighty degrees. The road ended here. The path from here was a footpath up the side of the hill. He glanced up once at the black thunderclouds that were still gathering, and started to climb.

Forty-five minutes later, Julian arrived at the Old Mine Town. Not quite on the crest of the hill, but on a wide level plateau two thirds of the way up. It was like a scene from the old, wild west. Julian's knowledge of history was scanty, but he had played enough holosuite games set in this era to recognize the approximate date. He was not fool enough to believe that every detail from his holo-games would be true to life, or to history, but the generalizations would be accurate enough to be going on with.

He walked down a wide, dusty central road, with wooden houses on either side. A few people moved around dressed in period costumes which made Julian smile. These people were no doubt here to make the ambiance of the place seem as real as possible. Very few visitors were in evidence though. Although he had ditched his Starfleet uniform, he would still stand out in his modern clothing. Perhaps it was time to dress down further?

He wandered idly down the street until the wooden houses ended, and he was faced once again with the side of the hill. On one side of him it started once again to climb, while on the other was almost a sheer drop of rock and bushes clinging to narrow ledges for dear life. He turned and faced the street he had just traversed. It had taken no more than five minutes to walk the entire length of the street. Is this what he had come for? A cluster of no more than nine or ten wooden buildings and a few people in fancy dress putting on a show for tourists? Rubbing his eyes, he turned towards the ever-present tavern and went inside.

Inside, the place was dusty, and looked exactly like he imagined an old eighteenth or nineteenth century western tavern or inn would look like inside. A long wooden bar top ran along the left side of the room, behind which a row of bottles and glasses were arranged on wooden shelving. A middle-aged woman in a long, flowing, tightly laced corset-dress that looked extremely uncomfortable, and also rather warm…except around the bare shoulders. The barmaid…or would it be bar-woman? Wore a brown woolen shawl around her shoulders that might have saved her shoulders from a draft, but did nothing to hide the proud cleavage that threatened to escape the bodice of her dress. Her salt and pepper coloured hair was piled on the top of her head and secured with a diamond, or at least, diamond-effect hair pin.

Julian kept his gaze fixed firmly on her eyes. He had seen holographic characters dressed like this, of course; but a real woman? With the holographic characters an outfit like this felt natural, but on a real female it felt wrong. He felt his face flush slightly, and he coughed, realizing the reality of what was happening. He approached the bar nonetheless and smiled. The woman gave him a lazy smile and replied in a slow, lazy drawl.

"What can I do you for?"

"A glass of water?"

"Sure thing."

She held her hand out for money and he shrugged and shook his head.

"Typical human I'm afraid. We don't…you know…I can sweep up, or wash dishes?"

She cocked an eyebrow and gestured around the empty bar-room.

"No dishes to wash. Look, this is us at our busiest."

"No visitors?"

She shrugged.

"We expect to get paid money. Most visitors are humans without money. Only aliens who use money ever eat or drink here, and they don't come up here very often."

"How come?"

"Nothing to do or to see."

Julian nodded.

"Then why are you here? It must be a very dull existence?"

"Dull but safe."

"How so? If you need to earn money…but get none…how safe is that?"

The woman's smile returned.

"That is the fun, isn't it? I get paid to work here, whether we get customers in here or not. This place is owned by a Ferengi who insists that no one eats or drinks here unless they can pay in some form of hard currency. The fact that he pays out more to keep this place running that he gets through trade seems irrelevant to him."

Julian frowned.

"A Ferengi who is deliberately involved in a loss-making business? Isn't that unlikely? There has to be some kind of profit involved. Ferengi are not known for their charitable attitudes, after all."

The woman regarded him for a moment, then leaned forward.

"What do I call you?"

Julian blanked for a moment. She had not specifically asked for his name, which was what he had been expecting. Should he tell her? Did he want to make it easy for anyone to follow him, as he was sure that someone would, eventually? He smiled.

"Call me Atoi."

"Atoi? Hmm. Suits you. You can call me Bess."

"Were not all tavern hostesses of the period called Bess?"

"Naturally. So why are you here, Atoi?"

Bashir smiled sadly.

"I am here to blend in and disappear."

"Not easy with a name like Atoi."

"You might be surprised. Where is the old mine? Is it still a functioning mine?"

"Oh yes, but only as a tourist attraction."

Bashir nodded.

"Perhaps I will check it out. I'll see you another time."

Bess nodded, and watched as the handsome young man left the room, somehow slightly troubled.

Julian returned to the end of the road, and stood for a moment, looking out over the cliff edge. Then he looked up and saw that with care, it might be navigable. He would avoid the tourist trail completely. That was why he had come in the first place. To be alone. To try and find his natural place in the order of things. But there was something else now, too. A curiosity. Why a Ferengi would pour money into a venture like that tavern that had little chance of ever making him any sort of profit. There had to be something else behind it. What could it be? Was there something else going on up at that old mine? Whether there was or not, Julian might have a little fun trying to find out; and if he could remain hidden and unknown in this area, so much the better. The first step; to find someplace to stay out of the rain that was threatening to fall at any moment. He looked up the steep hillside, and cautiously began to climb.

Julian climbed steadily. Climbing was not high on his list of favourite pastimes; it never had been, but he was surprised how much it helped him to clear his mind of trivia. His found his entire focus was on what he was doing, and having reached the summit of the hill, and looking back down at what he had achieved, he had to admit to a feeling of accomplishment he had never experienced before.

He crouched below a large overhanging rock and sat as the rain started to fall heavily. He was out of the wind and rain, and the ground was covered with a soft carpet of grasses that was supremely comfortable to sit upon. He lay down on his stomach, chin in his hands, looking out across the valley that spread below him, deep in thought.

Climbing required what? Strength and stamina? Skill? Admittedly his stamina had been genetically enhanced along with his brain, but that did not automatically mean he would become therefore an ideal athlete. Climbing he had just discovered, required patience and thought; not trying to be in too great a hurry, finding adequate hand and foot holds. And it was scary. Height was scary, especially if you were not accustomed to it, and Julian was not the world's biggest fan of heights. He was not _afraid_ of heights, exactly, but he was all too aware of the messy results that could come about if he slipped and fell from a great height. In other words, a man could not be genetically enhanced to be a good or successful climber.

Anything a man could choose to do in life that required physical strength or intelligence…okay, that could be put down to his genetics. Especially if they had been tweaked as in his own case. But something that required courage, bravery? That was something completely different. Something that no amount of genetic modification could touch. Hadn't Miles pointed it out to him in his quarters that time?

 _"Genetic recoding can't give you ambition or personality or compassion or any of the things that make a person truly human…"_

Miles had seen that right from the start. Julian remembered the feelings of shame that had engulfed him when the secret of his genetic background had been revealed. He had always been ashamed of it, ever since he had first learned of it. Had anything changed in the time since? The fact that he now had an understanding with Starfleet that had enabled him to keep his career despite… well, despite everything; had it made him feel complete? Happy? Justified in himself?

He had always wanted to be a doctor, right up until he had discovered the truth about his genetic enhancements. He remembered his whole life had then felt like it had been written for him in advance. Once the truth had come out, he had searched for something to do with his life that had not depended upon his genetics. He had discovered Tennis. Tennis was about strength and practice. Of course, looking at it now, there was little in life that was not touched in some way by the enhancements. Even his tennis benefitted from his improved hand/eye coordination. At the time, though, because his parents had seen it as a waste of all their time and money, and a waste of his new intellect, they had been against his promising future as a tennis player.

Why had he eventually given in to them? Playing tennis would never have put him at risk of discovery, and even if it had, it would not have affected his career in any way at all. Finally capitulating and going into medicine after all, had put him at a grave risk, and he had known it.

Medicine.

Did he still care about medicine? He had learned to care. He had once told Jadzia, quite truthfully, that he had himself at one time been terrified of doctors until he had eventually decided that he wanted to know what they knew. Once he had begun his training, he had learned that all he did really want was to help people.

Now he had thrown away his Starfleet career _and_ his medical practice, and for what? Because Captain Sisko did not trust his judgment? Was that a good enough reason for him to come storming away from DS9 the way he did?

His medical practice for Starfleet was as a result of the `deal' that Sisko had struck between himself, his father Richard Bashir, and Starfleet JAG's office. Dad was in prison now, paying for his actions, and he had agreed in part because he wanted his son to keep his career and his practice.

So, what had prompted him to storm away? Was it just pride? Was it just the fact that Sisko had gone behind his back to a member of his own team to question his competence? Sisko had tried to explain that his actions were an error in judgment, but not indicative of anything further. Had Julian seen or sensed something more sinister in Sisko's motivation than was really there? Or was there something else? Why was he really here?

As night fell, and thunder rolled around the valley, and occasional flashes of lightning showed up the vista before him brighter than daylight, Julian knew why he was here. Sisko's mistrust had started it off, certainly, and Julian knew he would never be able to work with him again knowing how he truly felt; but that was not why he was here, alone in the middle of nowhere, sheltering under a rock in a thunderstorm. The answer was simple. Basic. Primal, even.

He was afraid.

Afraid of his own enhancements. Afraid that the fear-mongers were right about people like himself. Afraid that Sisko was right to have been slightly mistrustful of him. He was afraid of how far he could possibly go if he were to lose control of himself.

No, not even that, he corrected himself. When he had first learned what Sisko had done, he had been hurt, then angry. Very angry. So angry, that for a split second he had been in the mood to sympathize with the madman Khan.

Julian knew he did not use his intellect even half as well as he was capable. He knew that he could quite easily follow in the footsteps of Khan if he was so inclined. That was what was wrong. One moment was all it had taken. One moment of anger that had taken him to a point that he had always known… _believed_ he would never reach. Now that he had, he was terrified of it happening again. What if he ever became as angry as that again? What if someone, _anyone_ made him even more angry? This time sure, he had dismissed the thought almost before it had fully formed. But why? What would he do next time? Would he act on it? No, the chance was not worth taking. Until he could be completely certain about his own integrity, he was better off staying away. He couldn't avoid people completely, that was unrealistic, but he could at least keep contact to a minimum.

Bess was closing the bar as the rain poured down in sheets outside the door. It was cold and there was not a soul in sight. Then from the corner, a huddled figure hunched against the rain raised a hand to stop her from closing the door. It was her Ferengi boss, Churk, his large, hairless head glistening in the wet. She waved him in and closed the door after him.

"You're late."

"How much today?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

His voice seemed surprised, slightly puzzled, but again, not really upset or put out.

"Not really rushed off your feet then? No customers at all?"

She shook her head.

"You're not doing your best to advertise this place, or to make it the kind of place that people want to come to, Churk. I've seen only three people today. Two Vulcans and a human. Since neither humans or Vulcan societies use money, they went elsewhere."

He nodded.

"We don't want too many people here, just you remember that. Visitors expect a tavern in a western town, that is the only reason we are here."

"But Churk, they expect a tavern they can get a drink in, or a meal of some kind. Anyone who needs refreshment comes here, then leaves in disgust at your terms and goes right across the road to the hotel there. The more custom they get, the more energy allowance they receive, which I thought you wanted."

Churk shook his head, his crooked greenish yellow teeth showing in the dimness.

"This is not about making a living, Bess. This is about making a profit! Now stop asking questions, get yourself out of here and make sure you are back early so I can get back to work."

Bess nodded and grabbed her cape from its place on a nail hanging behind a door at the furthest end of the bar. She tied it around her then placed her bonnet on her head.

"Churk, what _are_ you doing here?"

Churk stopped and turned to stare at her suspiciously.

"Since when did you become so curious? I pay you well considering you have nothing to do all day but lean on the counter showing off your…assets. Has someone been asking questions?"

When Bess hesitated, Churk came close and fire seemed to blaze in his eyes.

"I see. Who?"

"Some young feller came by here. Human, had no money, so he went away. That's all, I swear."

"So, he'll be at the hotel? What was his name? What did he look like?"

"Same as most visitors who come up here. Tall and skinny, wearing brown shirt and trousers, brown fedora. He said his name was Atoi."

"He'll be easily found, then."

Suddenly, Churk was on his communicator, talking earnestly, and Bess heard her description being repeated to someone on the other end. As she listened, she began to feel slightly alarmed. Why was Churk so worked up about a random human asking innocent questions? Whatever was going on, whatever Churk was really up to, she really hoped that Atoi was safe.

Meanwhile, dry and fairly warm under his rock, _Atoi_ had fallen asleep.


End file.
